


"i'm dead. so dead." | d.d.

by propertyofdindjarin



Series: din djarin drabbles+ [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din being an idiot who doesn't understand that babies should not be given weapons, Fluff, Force Healing, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Head Injury, Multi, Potentially OOC Mando, Read at Your Own Risk, Reader-Insert, a plotline that doesn't make any sense, no gender reader - Freeform, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propertyofdindjarin/pseuds/propertyofdindjarin
Summary: You get a head injury trying to take a toy blaster away from the Child and argue with the Mandalorian that the Child should not be given a blaster at all. Both you and the Mandalorian accidentally refer to each other as couples as you are quarreling.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Reader, Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda & You, Din Djarin (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You, You/Din Djarin (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: din djarin drabbles+ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785928
Comments: 4
Kudos: 196





	"i'm dead. so dead." | d.d.

**Author's Note:**

> [link to tumblr post](https://propertyofdindjarin.tumblr.com/post/621654565534695424/im-dead-so-dead-dd)

“Give it to me.” You tried to make your voice calm and collected but failed miserably. The Child’s lips curled upward again and you on the verge of exploding. The little monster thought that you were playing a game with him. And a game it was not. “If Mando finds out that you took a blaster from a locked cabinet under my watch, he’s going to kill me!” you exclaimed. **“I’M DEAD. SO DEAD.”**

Talking him out of it was definitely not going to work. So, that meant that there were two options left; grabbing it yourself or begging for it, and you decided to go for the former and save the latter for more desperate times.

The Child gave you an inquisitive look and cocked his head slightly to the left. It was almost like he could see the gears in your brain turning, trying to figure out a way to get the blaster without causing an immediate tantrum. A tantrum would lead to the Mandalorian waking up. That awakening would lead to you being fired and that couldn’t happen. 

You tilted your head at an angle, trying to see if the blaster had its safety clasp on. After confirming its existence, you took your chance and jumped at the little monster. You made sure to hit the bottom of the Child’s swaddled blankets softly, only with enough force to catch his feet off balance, so that he wouldn’t get hurt. Then, you reeled your hand backward and gently slapped the blaster out of the Child’s hands. 

It fell onto the plush carpet of the Child’s play station with an obnoxious jangle a few feet away from you. You winced, hoping that the Mandalorian hadn’t woken up yet, but at least you had gotten the blaster away from him. 

The Child looked down at the fallen instrument and then up at you in shock. Tears began welling up in his eyes and it was almost like he was saying, “How could you do this to me?” 

Your heart ached for the green bean as his wide, shiny eyes turned even more glassy. You didn’t like resorting to physical measures, but the Mandalorian would probably throw you out of the ship if he knew that the Child had gotten his hands on such a device while you were supposed to be watching him. And you couldn’t bear to be separated from the baby, even if it meant that he’d hate you forever.

A glance at the door to the Mandalorian’s quarters and a few moments of waiting proved that he was still sleeping. There was no sign of movement inside the room; no rustling of blankets or clanging of shifting beskar. However, in those seconds, the Child had gotten up and was waddling toward the blaster again. 

The instant you saw the green bean heading toward the weapon, your heart stopped. You scrambled to try and get to the blaster before the foundling, but it was far too late. The baby was already there! The Child squatted down—more like falling down due to his tiny stature—to pick up the blaster again. Panicked, you reached out to swipe it from his arms, but it was in vain. Your hands were met with air. 

The momentum from that sudden, uncalculated attempt shoved your body forward. You landed headfirst onto the fuzzy red carpet with a thud and something cracked. You were unsure if it was your nose, a tooth, or the metal sheets. However, the carpet wasn’t thick enough to cushion your head from the rigid floor and a loud clang rang throughout the Razor Crest. 

Your head—swirling with pain and panic—and your vision—attacked by a frenzy of dark spots that faded in and out—made you see things that you weren’t really sure were there. For example, there were six blindingly shiny versions of the Mandalorian kneeling around the perimeter of your body and you couldn’t tell which one was the real one. How had he gotten there? 

One of the figures said, “Kriff, what happened? Can you hear me? Cyar’ika!” Or perhaps it was all of them, as each of the six Mandos were opening their mouths and saying those words.

The last word—one that you didn't know—jolted you back into reality for a few precious seconds, in which you dreamily said, “Sorry.”

“Stay with me, okay? Maker, please...” You felt something jostle into the skin of your right shoulder, almost like something was climbing on top of you. Warm, somewhat sticky fingers began touching your face, but it was odd. They were very short and stout compared to a human’s hands. Suddenly, a warm, tingly sensation seemed to shoot out of the fingers into your temples and your eyes shot open. 

The pain that had been ringing in your ears immediately disappeared and ebbed away into a light pressure. The lights above you flared and then your vision blacked out. For a while, all you could see was darkness. Then, shadows of what might have been the Mandalorian began appearing. You blinked slowly, letting your tired eyes try to figure out what it was seeing. As you did so, the pressure faded away into nothing and it was like you had never hit your head at all. 

Then, something unbelievably bright was glinting off of something, blinding you again. You let out a frightened yelp until a slightly wet, fuzzy green hand patted your cheeks. You were about to scream again—was it the Grinch?—until you realized where you were. It was the green bean. “Oh,” you murmured. “Hi.”

Your vision cleared some more and most of the dark spots fading in and out of your sight had faded away. When you closed your eyes, red and green spots flashed where the lights above you were. Where was the blinding light coming from? You sat up, noticing that you were still on the carpet. You winced again at the new position and discovered that the brightness from before was coming off of the helmet of the Mandalorian. The beskar was reflecting the light that was directly above the Child’s play mat. Well, it was your fault for screwing it there. 

“Mando?” The word was weak but loud enough for the Mandalorian to hear. 

The response was immediate. “I’m here. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you said, still a bit dazed. Recollecting your memories, you remembered falling down and the fingers. “Something touched my head. And then I woke up.”

“That would be the Child.”

What? The Child? What did the Child do to you? 

Noticing your confusion, the Mandalorian explained that he didn’t really know what happened either, but that the Child’s hand was glowing when he touched your temples. It was strange how nonchalant the Mandalorian was being about the situation. 

While it was true that you fell trying to take a blaster from a baby, shouldn’t he have been focusing on the Child, who apparently used his creepy Force voodoo on you? Why wasn’t he more worried about what the Child did and what the cost of his Force magic might be? Frantically, you asked the Mandalorian, “What happened after the Child used his powers on me? Did anything happen to him?” You had heard of too many species that wielded their powers at a cost—their energy being severely depleted, their noses bleeding, or their physical body parts becoming deformed.

“Perhaps.”

What kind of answer was “perhaps?" What happened to the Mando-dad who went insane when anything remotely dangerous went anywhere near the Child? 

You turned your head to focus on Greenie, who was sitting on the floor next to the right side of your head. Your neck made an unusual crackling sound as you moved it. It was followed by pain, causing you to bite back a groan. Noticing the strain evident on your face, the Mandalorian quickly asked you if you were okay. 

You replied that you were fine and that he didn’t have to worry. 

“Who else would I worry about?” he muttered under his breath. 

“What?” You weren’t sure if you heard that correctly. But if he said what you thought he said, he must have been referring to the Child. Why would he worry about you?

“Who else would I worry about?” he repeated. 

Well then.

“Why would you worry about me? Worry about the Child. He was the one who magically found a way to open the locked cabinets and grab a blaster to play with.”

Maybe it was self-destruction, but you couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. You continued, “And it was really weird because I had been watching him for the entire day and each time I walked past the cabinet, I didn’t see a broken lock or anything. I don’t think the Force allows him to be able to phase an object’s matter and make it travel through a wall, but I could be wrong. Even so, it happened on my watch and I’m prepared for any of the consequences that you might give me.” 

The speech was improvised, so you hoped that it wasn’t as bland and emotionless as you thought you were when you were saying it. If you were fired today, at least you had a lot of good memories taking care of the Child. Or that’s what you were telling yourself. 

Seconds passed by, but they felt like hours. The silence was unbearable and you were on the verge of speaking up, embarrassing yourself again with a sentence that wasn't thought through enough when Mando spoke.

“I’m not firing you.” 

“But I failed,” you said meekly. “I let the Child get past a locked cabinet.”

“Exactly,” he said. “It was locked. It wasn’t your fault that you, not Force-sensitive, were taking care of a Force-sensitive foundling. I won’t ever blame you for that. Besides, you received a head trauma from your efforts to stop him, which shows your dedication to the job. And the Child decided to heal you, which means that he has an attachment to you as well.” 

“But how did he get into the cabinet in the first place?” you asked. You hadn’t taken your eyes off the little monster for longer than two minutes at a time. Even when you were cooking breakfast you made sure to check on the Child every thirty seconds. Had you messed up? 

The only time that you didn’t pay attention to the Child’s surroundings was when the Mandalorian went on his shift to look after his adopted son. But you didn’t want to accuse a Mandalorian of not protecting his foundling in his own ship. That would be actual self-sabotage. 

“He got in because I let him.”

What in the galaxy? The Mandalorian let a baby get into his cabinet of destructive weapons? Perhaps you weren’t the one that potentially had brain damage. Who would let a Force-sensitive foundling—a kid that couldn’t even talk yet for Maker’s sake—get control of an arsenal of blasters?

“Well, can you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to do that?”

The Mandalorian shifted like he was uncomfortable. The beskar that he was clothed in crackled as he did so, signaling that he must have felt your waves of disbelief as a personal attack of some kind. You wondered if he was feeling ashamed. Was he? Or was he merely miffed and angry at you for taking this the wrong way? You were sure it was the right one, though. 

And you didn’t care whether you’d pissed him off or not. Who in their right mind would let the Child get his hands on a bunch of blasters? You had just been healed by a fifty-year-old foundling and were even less in the right mind than the Mandalorian, yet you still knew that giving a baby a blaster was not a good idea.

“Okay,” you said. “So am I getting this right? The Child opened the cabinet using the Force and you stood there watching him. Is this some kind of Mandalorian tradition that I’m not getting? Because he could have accidentally killed himself or you and me. And he could-”

“I know,” the Mandalorian said. He cut you off from speaking again with a tilt of his helmet. It was like he was daring you to speak again. You did not take the dare and merely looked at him, telling him to go on with his explanation. You wanted to hear this man’s flawed logic. 

“Well,” he started. And then he stopped again. You were done with all of the starting and stopping. Why didn't he just say what he wanted to say?

“Just explain it to me already. Tell me why you did what you did and then we’ll get over this.”

We’ll?

Why did you say “we’ll” of all things? Why couldn’t you have just said “I’ll get over this” or “you’ll get over this” and save yourself from the misery of saying things that you regretted? You really couldn’t control the words coming out of your mouth. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted again and you wanted to punch his face. It was almost like you could see the smirk that was plastered behind that bucket of his. You regretted that “we’ll” so much.

“Can’t you just tell me?” you pleaded.

Something escaped the Mandalorian’s mouth. Was it a laugh? You weren’t sure. After regaining some composure, the Mandalorian explained that the blaster was a toy.

It was a toy.

It was a toy?

IT WAS A TOY?

And then he chuckled, probably due to your appalled features and the rage bubbling up inside of you. 

“Are you seriously laughing at me?” you demanded. “How was I supposed to know that it was a fake? You almost scared me to death! I thought the Child was going to trigger it and bring the entire ship down! I was having a mental breakdown—no, I was having four mental breakdowns at once while you were sleeping in your bunk knowing that you didn’t tell me that you gave him a fake blaster. Are you satisfied with yourself, mister I-am-the-better-parent?”

Completely ignoring your rant, the Mandalorian said, “I wasn’t laughing at your confusion.” Was that really what he had focused on? You were about to yell at him again when he continued. “You were pouting. It was… cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. Maker, you and the Mandalorian needed to get your priorities straightened. What had happened to your speech about the Child’s safety and not giving him fake blasters? Gone after one compliment? 

The Mandalorian didn’t seem to think about his words before saying them either. “Yes. You are.”

Well, then. If his priorities crossed the line, yours wouldn’t. 

You narrowed your eyes at him and said, “Don’t think that flattery will get you out of this severe issue. You can’t just give babies blasters—even if they are toys—and especially if that baby is Force-sensitive! What happens if the Child gets his grubby little hands on a real blaster and you let him have it because you thought it was a fake one? What happened to your Dad-Mando act where you won’t let the Child touch a pair of craft scissors? You went all crazy on me about the safety of the Child the other day because I let him use the craft scissors to make a cape for .2 seconds. Aren’t blasters much worse than scissors?”

The Mandalorian gave an exaggerated sigh of some sort and said, “First of all, it was a toy. Second of all, don’t tell me how to raise my son.” 

“I have a right to, considering that he’s my son too!” you bit back. 

“So you’re my wife?”

“What?”

Where did that sentence even come from? The Mandalorian was going to drive you crazy with confusion if you spent time mulling over the meaning of what he was saying. 

“Stop trying to distract me with random sentences that have nothing to do with anything!” you groaned. “This is very serious business!” Why was it that anytime you were right, you sounded wrong? And when the Mandalorian was wrong, he sounded right? And why did he keep giving oddly-timed compliments and weird questions that have the word “wife” in them?

“You said that he was your son too,” the Mandalorian said as if it was obvious. Again, why did he keep sounding like he was right? You knew he was wrong.

“People don’t have to be married to share a son,” you said exasperatedly. “Maybe in Mandalorian culture, they do, but it’s not that irregular for a couple to not be married and have a child.” 

You didn’t even have enough time to realize your mistake before the Mandalorian said, “So we’re a couple?”

You flushed bright red—a rather attractive shade of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer’s most prominent feature—and sputtered incoherent sentences. You weren’t really sure what you were saying either, but it must have been a bunch of “no”s. Worst of all, you weren’t sure if he was joking or not. That bucket was hiding everything.

You tried playing it off as a joke. “If you want to.”

But the Mandalorian had taken that seriously. “Okay, cyar’ika.” It was nice knowing that Mandalorians could joke too. You remembered that he had called you that earlier when you had fallen down.

“Oh yeah. What does that even mean?”

Unlike the other times, where he took forever to reply, the Mandalorian was quick to answer. “Darling.”

And then you actually died. Right then and there.

**Author's Note:**

> please drop a Kudos or a comment if you liked this :)


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